


Fic prompting game: The nutshot of love

by AlbieGeorge



Series: AlbieG's ill-advised fic prompting game [1]
Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Alastair Cook getting hit in the balls Klaxon, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14185968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlbieGeorge/pseuds/AlbieGeorge
Summary: I did a silly, and created a prototype for a fic prompting game.  Here is the first prompt I got:- Cookerson- Long pined for first kiss- A cricket ball to the gentleman's area- A sock with a hole in it





	Fic prompting game: The nutshot of love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celebel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celebel/gifts).



> Set during the 2015 Ashes. Video of the nut shot is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tc7ONxFWCm8) .

There was a hole in Alastair Cook's sock.

There was no getting away from it, really.  The most symptomatic of wardrobe malfunctions.  He could feel his third toe on his left foot just peeping through the hole and rubbing against the rougher material of his boot.

He was trying not to be preoccupied by it.  After all, he had better things to do.  Like getting a whole team of Australian batsmen out.  Yet, still, the peeping toe had bothered him during the team huddle, and it had bothered him every time he squatted down in the slips, a reverent quiet settling as another delivery came thundering down.  It had even bothered him as he'd instinctively stuck a hand out and held on to the ball that had sent David Warner stomping angrily back to the pavilion.  He was only momentarily distracted by Jimmy's tight hug of celebration, hot breath on the back of his neck, and a surly "Catch, mate." against his skin, as suddenly he was focused solely on disguising the small shiver of pleasure that ran through his body.

This bloody crush on his best mate was the only thing that could distract Alastair from the socky hell he found himself in, but neither distraction was useful when trying to captain an international cricket team, it seemed.

Alastair took a deep breath, and squatted once more.  Jimmy bowled again, and again.  Between balls, Alastair wiggled his foot until suddenly the toe popped back inside the hole, and there was a moment of glorious relief.  The relief was short lived, however, as Steve Smith edged another of Jimmy's deliveries and in one terrible slow-motion instant, the toe made a bid for freedom, and the ball kicked up off the grass slightly higher than Alastair had expected, toe-annoyance swept away in a terrifying wave of agony as the red ball hit him square in the nuts.

A few delirious minutes later, Alastair was breathing deeply to prevent the bile rising in his throat as he accepted a towel-wrapped ice-pack from the physio and shoved it down the front of his whites.  He looked up through watering eyes at the TV screen in the dressing room, which was still showing replays of his unfortunate accident.  It wasn't his little shit of a vice captain laughing that interested him, but the tiny flash of concern on Jimmy's face as he followed through from the delivery.

Later, he sat down next to Jimmy in the dressing room, sighing with fatigue as the last of his team wandered out, having ensured they were all patted on the back and aware of tomorrow's plan.  He hadn't meant to sit so close to Jimmy, but didn't move away when he realised their thighs were touching.  Alastair looked down at their legs as the warmth of Jimmy's post-shower body leached into his skin.

He didn't realise Jimmy was looking at him until he spoke.

"You alright, Cooky?"  came the quiet voice.  It lacked its usual edge of ill-temper.  Alastair looked up, and his reply caught in his throat as he found Jimmy looking at him with an intensity Alastair thought only existed in the Ryan Gosling movies he pretended not to watch.

"Yeah, Jim." he croaked out, "I think so."

Jimmy's expression softened, and all at once he looked like he was struggling with something as his brows knitted together.  And then another second in slow motion just like the one earlier that day.  A hand on the back of his head.  Lips against his, the roughness of Jimmy's stubble and the warm smell of his aftershave, and a sudden delirious happy feeling in the centre of Alastair's chest as he found himself kissing back without reserve.

The spell was broken by the sudden coolness of the air between them, as Jimmy broke the kiss, rose, and walked to the door.  He turned in the doorway, a smile playing on his lips.

"My room." he said. "Whenever you're finished captaining, " Jimmy gestured to the adjoining room, where light and voices indicated the coaches were expecting Alastair, "I'll be waiting." A smile and he was gone.

Alastair Cook had forgotten the hole in his sock.


End file.
